In the ends of her fingers were the marks of her needlework.

He bent and kissed those slightly roughened finger ends passionately.

"I love those marks!" he exclaimed.

"They make me feel that we belong to each other." "I'd be sorry to see _your_ hands different," said she, her eyes shining upon his.

"There are many things you don't understand about me--for instance, that it's just those marks of work that make you so dear to me.
A woman may begin by liking a man because he's her ideal in certain ways, but once she really cares, she loves whatever is part of him." In addition to the reasons she had given for feeling "bolder" about her "plebeian" lover, there was another that was the strongest of all.